Page 27 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)

Jesus, what am I supposed to say to that?

I barely know Liam. We got off together for ten whole minutes last year, and we’ve met to choreograph a joint performance six whole times now.

That’s it. Our relationship isn’t romantic or intimate.

It’s barely even personal. I haven’t even allowed myself to behave completely normally around him.

It’s not like I’ve pretended to be someone I’m not or anything.

I’ve still been warm and bubbly and joked around from time to time, but I’ve deliberately kept him at a distance.

He’s hot as sin, and it took months for me to get the way he shivered and whimpered and fell apart so easily under my touch out of my head after our first encounter.

It’s been hard enough to keep the part of my brain that wants to claim him and snarl at anyone who tries to touch him in check while we idly chat, or when I watch his broad shoulders and strong hips gliding around weightlessly through the mer-tanks like he’s Poseidon himself, without adding any form of real friendship or emotional intimacy to the equation.

Now he’s sitting here in my front room, opening his heart and soul and telling me that for some reason, I make him feel safe.

That I’m able to offer him peace in a way little else has through his lonely sounding, fluffed-up life.

He has no idea who I really am. No idea that in addition to being loud and dramatic and playful, I’m also hardworking and loyal and more than just a bit too trusting.

Until I walked into my front room and found him shaking and panicked, I didn’t know much about him either.

Not really anyway. I don’t know why he feels safe with me, why he’s allowing himself to be vulnerable, but it’s a gift and a responsibility that I can’t take lightly.

I know all too well what it’s like to not let others in.

To feel like vulnerability is a weakness.

I’ve spent my life smiling and working hard and supporting others when I’ve been able to.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, and I love that about myself.

I love that I’m quick to laugh and tease and find the joy in life whenever I can.

I love that my friends can come to me when they need to go out and let loose and forget about their worries for just a few moments.

I’ve always loved playing hard, and I’ve never minded working hard in order to make that happen, but I know just how oppressive it can feel to carry all of your hopes and fears and responsibilities alone.

I know how much even a few moments of calm or distraction can help.

It’s what drew me to dance when I was young and other types of performance art as I got older.

It’s why I felt drawn to rope play and shibari once I realized they existed.

The peace that comes with focusing on nothing other than sensation and support while letting the rest of the world fall away for a few moments is heady and addicting.

It’s become a way for me to let go and recenter the world when it starts to spin out of control.

The way Liam describes his love affair with water.

The way the ocean has always called to him sounds very much the same.

I’m grateful he’s found something that offers him a few moments of tranquility and release in a life that’s been so filled with chaos.

I’ve only ever found that kind of peace in movement and art and letting go.

I’ve never met a person who makes me feel the same way, but if somehow Liam feels like he can turn to me, like I’m safe, like I’m able to offer him comfort, I’ll do everything I can not to let him down.

His eyes are so blue and his expression so open as he watches me processing all that he’s just said.

I don’t know how we got to this place so quickly, but it feels like he’s offering me his entire heart.

Even though I know I’ll never get to keep it the way I secretly want to, I don’t want to hurt him.

I know all too well just how it feels to place your trust in another person, only to have them crush your soul in the end.

“Oh, sweetheart…” I give in to the surge of emotion swirling through my chest for the briefest of moments, leaning in close to squeeze him as tightly as I can in the hope that my actions will somehow say everything I want him to hear, since I’m sure whatever words fall out of my mouth next will be woefully inadequate.

“I promise I will do everything I can to help you when you need it.”

Forcing myself to let go and lean back feels like I’m physically ripping myself out of a nearly tangible, warm, intimate bubble that’s surrounded us since the moment he pulled me onto his lap, and I offer as playful a smile as I can manage while mourning its loss. “I’m proud to be your human water.”

The laugh that escapes him is one hundred percent snort. “That’s…I don’t even know what to do with that sentence, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Yeah…that was slightly less than eloquent, wasn’t it?

Seriously though. I don’t get the impression that’s the type of thing you share with many people, so thank you for trusting me with it.

I really am happy to help in any way I can.

” I pat his chest with both hands as I shift my legs to straddle his on my way to stand.

The alternative departure strategy of continuing to squirm around his lap until I can slide back off his knees feels far too intimate a gesture while he’s offering me openness and vulnerability, even though I’ve offered him nothing of the sort in return.

“To that end…Blue was always pretty worn out after he had a panic attack, and he’d usually try and take a long nap or watch TV or just do something else mindless and relaxing afterward.

I don’t know if that’s how it is for you too, or if you still feel up to eating and taking a look at my half of the choreography.

I don’t want you to push yourself and risk making things worse, so if you’re all worn out, let’s just reschedule.

I’m good with whatever.” I try not to think about how wrong it feels to climb off his lap and pretend to straighten nonexistent wrinkles from the front of my impossible-to-wrinkle, skintight shirt just to give my hands something to do.

“I feel bad turning down the offer of a home-cooked meal since you’ve gone to all the trouble of making one, but I tend to really struggle to eat for a few hours after something like this happens. I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god, babe, don’t be sorry at all.

Like I said, it’s not your fault. It’s just a thing that happens to you.

Dinner is basically done though. Just the veggies need to be steamed or sautéed or something.

The chicken and rice are already finished.

Why don’t I pack you up a to-go container, and then you can just nuke it all later tonight so you don’t have to worry about cooking? ”

“Seriously?”

I cock an eyebrow with a laugh. “Of course. I’m not going to send you home empty-handed and then sit here and eat like five people’s worth of dinner on my own because I have no self-control and probably cooked too much because I didn’t know how much you needed to keep all of…

” I wave my hand in his general direction “…that…looking like…that.”

He snorts out another laugh. “A normal amount these days since baking and swimming aren’t exactly a hardcore all-day workout.”

“Then I definitely cooked too much. Come on.” I tilt my head, silently asking him to follow me to the kitchen.

“I actually have tomorrow night off unexpectedly. I’m swapping a morning shift with someone at work, which is just…

lord, I don’t know how you work early mornings the way you do…

but it means we can just reschedule for then if that’s better for you. ”

I step over the fallen pans without a thought and start putting together a container for Liam to take home.

“That would probably be better. I honestly won’t be very good at concentrating on anything the rest of the night. I sort of just want to take a bath and go to bed, if that’s okay.”

He’s leaning awkwardly in the kitchen doorway when I pop the lid on the food and step back over the pans. His gaze is locked on the floor, both hands shoved deep in his pockets, and he looks like a sad toddler who’s asking if they can have a second dessert.

“Did you just ask me if it’s okay if you take a bath and go to bed?” I ask playfully, trying to get him to lighten up and realize that doing whatever is best for his mental health right now is what matters.

His gaze bounces up to mine briefly as a deep-pink blush fills his cheeks and tracks down along his neck. “I guess I did.”

I step close enough that even though he’s trying to avoid my gaze by examining my floor, he has no choice but to look into my eyes.

Who knew that being shorter than someone could have its perks?

“Of course that’s okay. Here.” I press the container against his chest, ignoring the warmth of his fingers as they brush mine when he takes it.

“You go home and rest. I’ll clean up my mess.

We’ll both go to work way too early in the morning, and we’ll try this again tomorrow. Say five p.m.?”

A delicate, thankful smile pulls at his lips, and his cheeks darken even further. The image sears itself into my retinas, and for the second…or maybe eighth time, I have to tell myself that I’m not going to deliberately try to make him blush every chance I get.

I walk him to the door with smiles and idle chatter about nothing, doing my best to make sure he can tell I’m not frustrated or upset about tonight’s turn of events.

He pulls me into an awkward side hug and mumbles a thanks that has warm breath ghosting across my temple before turning quickly and heading for the stairs without a backward glance.

When I close the door behind him and fall against it with a groan, my head thunks against the steel far harder than I expect it to.

It’s the final straw in the mess that this evening turned out to be, and enough to leave me sighing out loud and giving up trying to do anything else that resembles acting like a functional human for the rest of the night.

Clearly, that’s not in the cards, what with spilled pans triggering panic attacks and accidental door-meets-forehead-induced concussions.

I sink to the floor, where Cupcake promptly climbs into my lap to get scratches.

“I can do this, right, baby?”

I can do this. I absolutely can. I can offer Liam a place to feel safe while we do friend and colleague-type things like drink coffee and work on our performance.

I can offer him support and kindness, and that will be enough.

I don’t need a man to be happy or complete, and I’m not going to let myself fall back into my old pattern of hoping for something more.

I’m honored that he trusts me enough to be vulnerable for some reason, and I’m going to respect that and help him when I can.

Helping someone is just something good people do.

It doesn’t have to mean that I’m secretly harboring the type of feelings I’ve sworn off.

Tomorrow, he’ll come over, and we’ll go through the choreography, and then next week, when the rigging is completed, we’ll start working on our performances together and rehearsing properly.

We’ll be professionals, just like we’ve been this whole time.

If he starts to have a rough go of it, I’ll be there to hold him until he’s okay on his own, and that’s all.

I’m not going to long or pine or think about him in the shower.

I’m not going to try to make his pale skin blush a beautiful pale pink.

I’m not going to think about the fact that he’s gorgeous and endearing and sweet, or about the fact he’s the kind of man I used to spend my days and nights searching for.

I don’t date anymore, and that’s for the best. I don’t need love and romance and connection to be happy.

I’m going to continue to be the strong, confident, independent man I’ve worked so hard to become.

And the aching hollowness that settles in my chest as I listen to his steps echoing down the metal staircase, well…

I must just have heartburn because I haven’t eaten dinner yet.